Explore "My Hildegarde" by St. George Rathborne on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I was tremendously jaded, weary of knocking about the world in the vain hope that a succession of strange sights, and rubbing elbows with queer people, might cause me to forget some very unpleasant events in my past; but which obstinately persisted in clinging to me with a zeal I could not appreciate. So it chanced that in my earnest endeavor to run away from the phantom that seemed to pursue me, I managed to double on my trail and actually overtook it.
It was in Bolivar, one of those semi-tropical cities on the great gulf to the South of our American republic. Of course, Bolivar was not the real name, but it will answer the purpose just as well, especially since a narration of the remarkable events that came under my observation there might stir up a hornet's nest in the gay little republic, should the bare truth be set forth.